Remnant
by Fell The Tempest
Summary: A voice cries out for salvation, and a glyph is conjured - a glyph made of swords. The course of history is forever altered.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Weiss Schnee was many things.

She was a singer, an aspiring huntress, and heir apparent to the Schnee Dust Company, the largest energy producer on Remnant. She was graceful, poised; a delicate winter flower, so the tabloids said, with wealth, beauty and talent beyond imagination.

However, neither the world's wealth, nor its talent, could protect her from the demons they created.

Every motion was graceful; every smile was beautiful; every word was perfectly enunciated; because anything less would be seen as failure.

As the heiress of the Schnee Dust Company, her life's ambitions had been decided from the moment she was born. Her parents kept her locked away in their family estate, surrounded by everything she would ever need, surrounded by tutors, maids, cooks and gardeners that catered unquestioningly to her every whim, lest they find themselves out of a job.

They were her only contact with the outside world... and she_ hated_ them for it. Their smiles, their laughter, served as bitter reminders of what she could not have. In those seventeen years, locked away behind the stone walls of the Schnee Estate, she learned two very important lessons.

The first lesson: that money could not buy happiness. The second: that a cage, no matter how gilded, is still a cage. These lessons defined her, molded her into a cold, callous person, one who trusted few and cared for fewer still.

But that had changed when she'd come to Beacon.

_For the honor of the Schnee Dynasty_, she'd said. _That's why I want to become a Huntress_. It was the only reason her father would accept. But there was much more to it; Beacon was her escape from the madness, from the mantle she was forced to bear. Even if it was only for a heartbeat, she needed to escape the whitewashed halls that threatened to swallow her up, and the immaculately pressed sheets that never seemed to keep away the chill.

She'd found freedom, there, and with that freedom, she'd grown. She'd made friends, learned to stand on her own two feet. Her eyes, as they say, had been opened; the world was, indeed, a scary place - she knew that better than most - but what did that matter when you had friends to keep the worst of it at bay?

She was a member of team RWBY, top of her class, and she wouldn't have traded it for the world.

Weiss Schnee was many things. But, in that moment, she was something else. Something more.

Something a_ngry_.

"Yang... I'm sorry. I'm so _sorry_."

Each of her teammate's sobs sent a sliver of hot rage into her heart, but she didn't look back at the two broken bodies lying behind her on the cold concrete. Not at Blake, hunched over in the gravel, her undershirt stained crimson where Adam's sword had skewered her; not at Yang, her hair dripping with lifeblood, her right arm missing from the elbow down.

She didn't look, because she knew that if she did, she'd lose control. She'd do something stupid, something that neither Vale, nor her team, could afford.

The stakes were high, higher than ever before - too high for any one person to bear. In the midst of the Vytal festival, the enemies of mankind had struck. Vytal and the city of Vale had been swarmed by an endless tide of Grimm, tireless creatures that fed on negative emotion and sought only to feed on those producing it.

And, as much as Weiss hated to admit it, it had done a stellar job.

War had erupted on their doorstep, and hundreds of innocents had died in the ensuing chaos. The streets burned like torches in the night; storefronts and homes alike had been smashed to splinters beneath the footsteps of the Grimm, the White Fang, and rogue Atlas troops. The smell alone left her weak in the knees, triggering something primal in her, something that trembled and twitched, with eyes too wide and breaths too short.

Then, Atlas' flagship had fallen from the sky. An entire city block was pulverized beneath the twisted hull of steel, and thousands of lives were snuffed out in an instant. Those who lived were forced to bear witness to their homes and loved ones perishing, buried and crushed underneath a vessel that had once represented man's defiance against the ever-encroaching darkness.

The negativity caused by those deaths had attracted more Grimm, like moths to a flame. Now, Beacon, her classmates, her professors, her _teammates_ – they were all in danger, a house of cards built upon a trembling foundation.

And so, she stood her ground; as the rest of Beacon Academy evacuated by airship, she stood guard over her fallen classmates, and over her family – not the family she was born into, but the one that truly mattered, the one she'd forged in a kiln of sweat, blood, and tears.

Her pristine battle dress had been torn and caked with dust in the wake of the fighting. Blood ran from a single cut over her eyelid, where one of the Grimm had managed to pierce her Aura, but she paid the wound no mind.

After all, lowering one's guard against an Altesian Paladin was suicidal.

The metal monstrosity towered over her, easily five times her height. It was fast as it was powerful; its beady optic sensors flashed crimson as they tracked her movement.

She took a quick breath, before meeting its charge.

With a sharp gesture, sky-blue glyphs blossomed beneath her feet, enhancing her speed to a level that rivaled even Ruby's. Stepping forward, she closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, Dust rounds carpeting the ground in her wake.

A handful of other students – those who were still able to stand – took up arms and began firing at the corrupted machine, trying to distract it or disable its cannons, even as their shots were repelled by its steel hide. Even injuries wouldn't stop them from pulling a trigger. The discharge of their weapons beat a dull staccato on her eardrums, muted by the rampant beating of her heart.

_How long had she been fighting?_

Myrtenaster's revolving chamber snicker-snacked into position, and with a wordless cry, Weiss thrust her blade forward.

Myrtenaster was never an ideal weapon for taking out machinery, let alone the grandiose war machines that Atlas used for Grimm containment, but she made due. Her rapier's razor-sharp tip flashed, in and out, punching holes in the carbon-steel hide of the Altesian Paladin.

Weiss shifted – far more quickly than any normal girl in heels would find possible – and ducked beneath the Paladin's savage blows, her scowl filled with contempt.

"_Amateur_," she snarled, as she side-stepped yet another two-ton fist, her blade igniting in a flurry of sparks as it glided down the robot's arm. She batted the heavy limb aside and lunged towards the Paladin's face.

A savage grin split her lips as Myrtenaster sunk hilt-deep into one of its glowing red eyes.

"That's for _Beacon_!" She cried, glaring at the machine. Her father would be disappointed in her, for her _uncivilized_ behavior. What proper lady would lose her temper in the presence of her peers?

A proper lady wouldn't take up arms, either, so she supposed she was destined to be a disappointment. And, at the sight of her wounded friends, she realized she didn't care. The heiress would become _very_ unladylike, if it mean that Yang and Blake would survive.

Snarling, Weiss wrenched the blade from the behemoth's eye and skirted around its grasping hands. She crouched atop the machine's back, just out of reach of its hungry claws, her rapier poised to strike at the exposed circuitry between its head and neck.

The Paladin bucked beneath her feet, trying desperately to dislodge its murderous passenger. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't land a finishing blow - the god-forsaken machine just wouldn't sit _still_.

"_Weiss! Watch out!_" Shouted a voice. _Neptune_ – of course. He and the other students had been providing covering fire. Instinctively, she glanced in his direction, opening her mouth to say something – only to pause at the look of abject terror in Neptune's eyes.

Its kinetic servos whirred into motion, and suddenly, the Paladin was airborne. The wind was punched from her lungs as the metal behemoth activated its booster rockets. She collapsed bonelessly into the metal, the impact blasting through her already-weakened Aura and cracking her ribs, even as she was carried up and away, hundreds of feet in the air.

For a moment, she was senseless, blinded by the sudden pain, the wind whipping through her hair, and the all-consuming need to _hold on_. But her trembling fingers, inch by inch, lost their hold on the robot's slick hull. Her hands closed, empty. Myrtenaster tumbled towards the earth below, suspended in the open air, growing further and further away by the second.

The Paladin turned to face her, its lone eye glinting dangerously. Relying entirely on instinct, fear and adrenaline beating a frenzied staccato in her chest, Weiss _screamed,_ her voice stifled by the wind –

– wishing for _help_, someone to _help_, because she didn't want to _die_ –

\- her Semblance activated, and a _new_ glyph was born into existence, a glyph decorated with swords that spiraled endlessly around its center -

– and the robot's fist collided with her chest, striking her with the force of a two-ton sledgehammer.

Days later, when she woke, she would recall nothing else... nothing else, save for a pair of beautiful sunset eyes.

* * *

He fell endlessly into the abyss.

The wind rushed by him, whipping through his hair, its chilly fingers digging into his flesh like so many blades. His clothes, little more than rags at this point, hung loosely about his frame, utterly failing to stave off the cold. Vacant eyes flickered open, blearily staring into the dusk.

Lungs seized, taking in their first, gasping breath.

The _moon_. Fractured like glass, it hung in the night sky, all but eclipsing the light of the stars with its majesty. He stared at up at the heavens, and a feeling of unease settled in his gut. His thoughts were jumbled, incoherent – but something about what he was seeing...

...it was _wrong_.

Even downward he tumbled, buffeted by the ocean breeze, rocketing towards... hundreds of little somethings, glowing brightly in the darkness, streaking across his vision as he spiraled out of control. _Lights_, he realized. Flickering in the distance like little candles.

And in the harsh glare of those lights, he noticed something else: he was not falling alone.

Beside him was a woman – more of a girl, really, possibly in her late teens – dressed in a sky-blue battle-dress that had clearly seen better days. Her snow-white hair whipped about her head as she tumbled, bloodied and bruised. One of her arms was twisted at an odd angle, and blood poured from a deep cut just above her hairline. Her eyes settled on his, only for a moment – and then they slipped shut, as she passed out from the pain of her injuries.

Those_ eyes_... Why did they look so familiar?

A woman's voice pierced the haze within his mind. A memory – a remnant of a memory, from a time so long ago.

_"-duty... there's no turning back. Once you've made this pact... Alaya won't let you go. You know that."_

_Red fabric rustled. Hands twitched, tugging at the edge of her skirt._ _Sky-blue eyes settled on his own, filled with love – and with despair._

"I want to be a hero," he whispered, his voice stolen by the wind.

_"I know," she replied. She sighed quietly, the sound breaking his heart. A soft smile came to her lips, and her eyes grew suspiciously wet in the flickering candlelight. A hand, soft and warm, pressed lightly against his chest. "Just... don't forget me. Don't forget us. If you can manage that, then - then maybe you'll be okay. Promise me."_

"I promise."

The lie left his lips without any meaning, without any emotion.

He couldn't remember her, not really. Her name, her face - they had faded as the years passed. Was the voice in his memories truly hers, or was it, too, a lie? His memories of her had worn away, save for those of her sky-blue eyes and the warmth they held.

But he treasured those memories above all things. They were his anchors, rousing him from the steel and blood and fire that consumed his every waking moment.

A shadow – imposing, and growing closer by the moment – tore him from his reverie.

The structure, whatever it was, loomed hundreds of feet into the air. Fire licked along the edges of the structure, casting its worn steel and scorched mortar into stark relief. Black creatures in white masks scurried across its surface like ants, gnawing and thrashing and _writhing_. Beady red eyes swiveled, tracking their approach.

His enemies – _the enemies of mankind_ – lay in wait. As was his duty – to end the threat. Such was his existence, his purpose.

It was too late to change his trajectory. He was too close, and was traveling at a speed far too great to stop. Any mortal would be swiftly killed on impact, their body dashed against the stone tower like a bug against a windshield.

But not him. He wasn't mortal. Not anymore.

Spidery limbs glowed with _od_ as they were reinforced beyond their natural limits. His bones hardened, his skin became tougher than the strongest leather, and his muscles became as dense as steel cables. Like a meteor in the night sky, scorching with fire, he descended. He grasped at the falling girl's dress, clutched her tightly to his chest, and turned his back to the wall –

\- and a thunderclap echoed into the distance as Emiya Shirou pierced through the unrelenting tower walls like a knife through butter. 


	2. Chapter 2

Shirou was hallucinating. Of this, he was certain.

He'd served Alaya for years beyond counting. In that time, he'd slain terrorists in the sands of the Mediterranean, felled Dead Apostles and rogue elementals throughout the continent of Africa, and even traipsed backwards through time to fight a man who'd achieved a facsimile of the Second Sorcery.

And as a result of those journeys, of his experiences as a Counter Guardian, he considered himself to be fairly well-traveled. He had seen the past, and the future - several variants of both_, _in fact.

But a fractured moon? Masked monsters, like he'd never seen before, in such great number? The world he found himself in couldn't be real. More likely it was a fever dream, a product of his fraying sanity.

At least, that's what Shirou thought, until he struck the tower walls. They buckled inwards, bursting in a shower of concrete chunks and plaster dust. Reinforced or not, that impact _hurt, _and at that point, he realized that two things: that he wasn't dreaming, and that by extension, that the girl in his arms was real.

He brushed the pale girl's hair away from her throat, taking her pulse with a feather-light touch.

_...ba-bump... ...ba-bump..._

Her heart was beating faintly and slowly, fluttering like a bird's wings, but as long as it was beating, she could be saved.

Concern, or something close to it, stirred within his breast. He found his eyes drawn to the woman in his arms, and took a moment to study her closely, inspecting her for wounds. There was no lighting in the tower, but his reinforced eyes granted him near-perfect vision in the darkness.

There was a scar crossing one of her eyes, he noticed, a reminder of an age-old sword wound. But it was her other, more recent injuries that drew his gaze; dark bruises crept along her collarbone, dipping beneath the hem of her dress, suggesting that it was broken. Her breathing was slow, soft, and... slightly _wet_. Broken ribs, he mused, and perhaps a punctured lung. Internal bleeding was almost a certainty. Without proper medical attention, she wouldn't last more than a few hours.

Shirou's jaw tightened ever-so-slightly.

_What did this to you?_

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden explosion of concrete dust and fire.

The war machine towered over him, having followed them through the hole they'd made; its hull flecked with laser burns and scrapes. Its lone crimson eye scanned the room, before drawing a bead on the girl in his arms – and then it stomped forward, extending a mechanical fist. With a loud clang and an accompanying hiss, the fist detached, showcasing the barrel of a concealed gatling gun.

_Well, there's one question answered, _he mused.

He stood, hands loosely at his sides, and placed himself between the injured girl and her aggressor. The robot paused, the glare of its beady red eye settling on him... and then the sound of grinding steel filled the air as its wrist-barrel whirred to life.

"It seems that, wherever I am... there are people who need to be saved," Shirou murmured, a smile playing at his lips.

It was a smile that didn't meet his eyes.

"**Trace, on.**"

His mind, as sharp as the blades he held, played out and assessed a half-dozen combat scenarios. Information flowed within his mind, as plans were conjured, and then discarded. They were in an enclosed space, and using destructive weapons would likely bring down the tower. If he were on his own, that wouldn't have been an issue – but the girl, who he was protecting, would likely be killed in the collapse.

Therefore, he would have to stick to the basics.

In a flash of light, Shirou's empty hands were filled with steel.

The twisted machine opened fire, its wrist-mounted machine gun buzzing like an angry chainsaw, dust rounds ripping from its extended barrel and streaking towards him in vibrant flashes of rainbow-colored light.

Shirou knew he couldn't dodge, because the girl –_ ice-blue eyes filled his vision, and a soft whisper broke his heart_ – was behind him. If he moved, if he attempted to skirt around the hail of bullets, she would be killed. And, in one of very few moments of irrationality, he determined her life to be... precious. Precious beyond comparison, beyond the lives of those he saved, those who would never appreciate his actions and who would likely die in droves before whatever conflict he was summoned into was finished. was finished. He wasn't sure _why_ he felt that way -

–_don't forget us, promise me_-

\- but he didn't dwell too heavily on such sentiments. Those thoughts were for another time, preferably when he wasn't standing in the middle of a warzone. The thought brought a sardonic grin to his lips.

With an effort of will, he reinforced his limbs, along with the piecemeal armor that had been destroyed upon his summoning. The red and black fabric, inlaid with carbon-weave fibers and steel plates, would still provide_ some_ protection.

Then, taking in a sharp breath, he charged. Head on, swords raised, into the hail of gunfire.

Time seemed to slow as adrenaline pumped through his veins. Kanshou and Bakuya shielded his approach, deflecting lethal fire away from his vital bits. Average blades would have been destroyed under the blows they absorbed, but the enchanted steel of the Married Swords held fast. The bullets he couldn't deflect beat a heavy staccato on his armor, but didn't pierce skin; they hurt, but the sensation of pain was ignored and discarded. One round grazed his head, parting his hair, even as he stepped into the robot's guard, Kanshou extended.

Steel flashed, and the machine's arm fell to the ground in a pile of smoking wires and metal, severed at the elbow. Shirou, standing behind the Paladin, let out a slow and steady breath.

The steel monstrosity roared its displeasure. Shirou barely had time to blink before the Paladin struck back, with a sudden ferocity that knocked him off his feet; the steel behemoth whirled, steam hissed and popped in the cold night air, and a sword – more of an oversized box cutter, really – emerged from the thing's _other_ arm, flashing towards his eyes.

Shirou brought up his arms and blocked the strike, his reinforced muscles groaning under the weight of the blow. The blade descended again, and again, with mechanical precision. Sparks flew as the swords connected, in a furious dance of death.

Static flashed across his vision, and he fought back a grimace.

His arms shook beneath the weight of the blows, burning with agony. His legs began to shake, and he was driven _back, _closer and closer to the woman he was trying to _protect_ from the fighting.

The robot lunged forward, blade thrusting for his heart; this time, Shirou was prepared. Rather than blocking the strike, he stepped around it, and the offending blade missed him by a hair's breadth, biting deep into the stone floor. Spinning on his heel and pouring as much _od _as he dared into his legs, he lashed out with a reinforced kick.

The robot's blade may have been heavy and sharp, but it was a mass-produced weapon of fairly low quality. Compared to the enchanted steel of Kanshou and Bakuya, it was a pale imitation of a real weapon. All of the strikes Shirou had blocked served a purpose, and when a steel-toed boot backed by two hundred pounds of reinforced Counter Guardian struck at the base of the blade, that purpose was brought to light.

The blade snapped off at the hilt.

Pain lanced through Shirou's hip, but he pushed forward, not allowing the steel monstrosity a moment's rest. He twisted and lunged forward, his twin swords flashing, ripping through the Paladin's glistening hull like it was made of wet tissue paper.

His strikes were methodical. Efficient. Surgically precise. The battlefield had become an operating table, Kashou and Bakuya had become his scalpels.

Shirou danced around the beast, much like Weiss had minutes before. Unlike Weiss, however, he was physically in his prime, over a foot taller, and properly equipped. His first strike severed the exposed hydraulics that controlled the movement of its legs. The second, a brutal overhand slash, removed the robot's remaining arm from its shoulders. The Paladin stumbled, sparking and smoking, its lone eye flashing dangerously -

– and Shirou's blades sank hilt-deep into its chest, biting into the machine's vital circuitry.

The fight was over almost as soon as it began, and with much less fanfare. The Paladin's optics flickered and died, the electric humming in its chest faded, and the steel behemoth collapsed, like a marionette with its strings cut, silent as the grave.

Kanshou and Bakuya evaporated into a cloud of dust, leaving two smoking holes in the Paladin's corpse.

Sunset eyes lingered on the machine for a moment. Lips parted in a weary sigh. Fabric rustled, and footsteps echoed through the empty tower. The footsteps stopped, and hands - _hands_ _that will never hold anything_ \- reached for the fallen girl with eyes that were so familiar...

...and a soft red light filled the room.

Startled, Shirou spun on his heels, his heart pounding frantically –

– the Paladin's eye flashed, faster and _faster, too fast_ -

– and the Counter Guardian held out a hand.

**"Rho Aias!"**

* * *

There are more flavors of pain than coffee. There are the little pains, the pains of stubbed toes, papercuts, and honest mistakes. There are the harsh, stabbing pains, the pains of rejection, forgotten dreams, broken bones and broken promises. Then, there are the longer, drawn out pains, the pains that never seem to fade: the pain of grief, the pain of a lost love, the crippling agony of a serious injury, and the knowledge that things will never be the same again.

Every living being partakes of pains like these over the course of their lives. Unfortunately, some partake more than others.

Blake Belladonna, by the time she'd hit her late teens, had become a connoisseur of pain. It was an acquired taste, and it was one that never settled right on her tongue, but she'd grown accustomed to it. It hounded at her heels, as rabid as any Grimm, a lingering miasma of paranoia, distrust, and guilt.

Wherever she walked, death and disaster were sure to follow. And so she ran.

Even as the White Fang – her brothers and sisters, as much family as her own flesh and blood - turned on her, and her name became a curse_,_ she ran. She ran, she kept running, and she never looked back.

Family, she'd learned, was overrated: because losing it was inevitable, and the pain of losing one's family cut deeper than a sword ever could. That was Blake's truth, a bitter truth that she was forced to live through, time and time again.

Beacon had changed that, and for the better, she'd been assured.

Then it had fallen.

"_Weiss!_" Blake screamed, her eyes widening in horror.

She'd watched, terror beating in her heart, as her teammate was launched through the air. Watched, hot tears streaking down her soot-stained cheeks, as the tower walls buckled from the force of her teammate's impact.

Weiss had never been durable. She was quick on her feet, but was as fragile as the ice she conjured. After being decked by a Paladin, hard enough to send her through Beacon's walls, and while Blake's enhanced vision wasn't good enough to let her see her teammate's landing, her accursed imagination filled in the blanks.

The heiress' chances of surviving were low. She was injured, outgunned, and low on ammunition. None of her allies were in a position to help; Port and Oobleck were evacuating the other students, the Altesian military had been routed, Grimm were swarming the area, and...

..and the Paladin _pursued_ her, smashing its way into the tower, boxing her in, its weapons glowing hot with dust-laced ammunition.

Weiss was going to die. She was assured of that, too.

"Not you too... _please_..." she whispered, a hollow plea to a god that never seemed to answer back.

She didn't deserve to have her prayers answered... because all of this, all of it, was all her fault.

"_I'll make it my personal mission... to destroy everything you love," the man said, his crimson eyes flashing behind the Grimm mask that obscured them. His voice was heavy with regret, as though _she_ was the one guiding his merciless hand, as though it was _her_ fault that his blade carved a bloody trail through the streets of Vale._

If she'd been stronger – if she wasn't so useless, if she hadn't failed, if she had steered Adam away from his warpath, if she'd _beaten_ him, _Yang _wouldn't have been injured, _Ruby_ wouldn't be missing, and _Weiss_... she wouldn't be... wouldn't be...

She took in a shuddering breath.

"Come on! We've got to help her!" Neptune grunted. He wasn't doing much better than Blake was; his uniform was in tatters, his blue hair was matted with blood and his torso was dotted with laser burns. He staggered to his feet, using his trident like a crutch – only to be stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Neptune," Sun said, tiredly, "sit down. Please, don't make me do this."

"We have to do something!" Neptune snarled, slapping aside his teammate's hand. "Dude, she's one of _us_! Are you really gonna sit back while she gets pasted?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," Sun replied, eyes downcast. "Both of us are low on aura. We've got injured to look after. At this point, battling a Paladin is suicide. I'm not watching another friend die today, not if I can help it."

Blake's heart went out to the injured teen, but she couldn't bring herself to speak. The pale flesh of her hand closed around Yang's limp fingers, and she squeezed tightly, praying for a miracle.

"...I can't believe I'm hearing this," seethed Neptune. "Sun, I never took you for a coward. What happened to never leaving someone behind? Does the word huntsman mean anything to you, anything at all?"

"I don't like this any more than you!" Sun protested, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I know how you feel about her!"

"If you did, you wouldn't be holding me back!" Neptune shouted.

"Do you think she'd want you to die, too?" Sun asked, baring his teeth, his voice becoming deadly quiet. Blake took in a shuddering gasp, sparking a glance towards her friend. She'd never seen him without a smile, let alone so angry. "We're all low on Aura, and we've got other people relying on us to be their shield. If we split up? We die. If we leave our posts? We die. If we charge after that Paladin? We die! There's no winning here! Only death. Our best option is to wait for help to arrive! Port said there are bullheads on the way to evacuate us, and -"

Neptune cut him off with a short, barking laugh. "You honestly think anything is getting through these skies? If any help comes, it'll get swarmed by the Grimm! There's no way a bullhead can land. Face it, Sun! We're dead anyway. And if that's the case, we might as well die as heroes - together."

Sun's hands lashed out, wrapping themselves around the tattered lapels of Neptune's shirt. He jerked his teammate close.

"Are you listening to yourself?" Sun hissed.

"I could ask you the same question," Neptune spat, "though I think I already know the answer. Doesn't take an intellectual to figure out that you've had your head in the sand, ever since the bodies started dropping."

Sun stiffened, and a heavy silence fell over the group. Blake sucked in a quick breath, yellowed eyes flickering back and forth between the two.

"Let me_ go_, Sun," Neptune demanded. "I'm a huntsman. A real one. This is my fight, and I'm going to fight it. Get in my way, and I'll never forgive you."

Sun's grip tightened on Neptune's collar, and hurt flashed in his eyes – but he swallowed it, and glared daggers at his teammate.

"I'd rather _lose_ a friend than _bury_ one," he said, deceptively quiet. Letting go of Neptune's collar, he gave the boy a quick shove. "Take a seat, Neptune, before I _make_ you."

"Sun?"

"This is a bad time, Ren," Sun replied, not diverting his gaze. "What is it?"

"Sorry to interrupt, but... you might want to turn around," Ren replied. Blake's ears twitched nervously at the sound of his voice, and her amber eyes settled intently on his own. "Something's happening in the tower."

His face was unusually pale, and his green jacket was stained black with blood, but he moved with the strength of a man possessed. Staggering to his feet, he visibly swayed, _Stormflower_ clasped gingerly in his shaking hands.

Nora sat beside him... and, strangely enough, the talkative redhead was completely silent. She made no move to stand. Her mouth hung open in an expression of shock and disbelief, and her eyes were fixed on something over Sun's shoulder.

Blake followed her gaze.

Light flashed through the derelict tower's windows, and the unmistakable sound of automatic gunfire echoed across the battlefield. Sparks flew, and steel glinted in the dim light they provided. Though Blake had enhanced vision, courtesy of her Faunus heritage, it had its limitations – and the tower was too far away for her to get a clear picture of what was happening. But what she'd seen all pointed to one conclusion.

"She's still alive. She's still fighting," Neptune said, his voice soft, tinted with disbelief. "It's not over."

The battered students stared at the tower for a moment, stunned into silence... all of them, except one.

His brow furrowed, his teeth clenched, and his face was set in a stony expression – determination flickered in the teen's eyes, of a sort she'd seen many times before. It was the grim determination of a zealot, the near-hysteria that overcame someone who was committed to a cause and had very little to lose.

"It's not over yet!"

Before anyone could stop him, the blue-haired _king of cool _staggered forward and charged at his teammate's back. Sun turned around, surprise etched into his features, but he wasn't prepared for the shoulder he took to the gut. Aura or not, the strength of the blow buckled the faunus, knocking the wind out of him, pushing him aside – and Neptune began sprinting towards the tower, as fast as he could, his feet eating up the ground beneath him.

"Neptune!"

Neptune ignored Sun's plea, his spear collapsing into its energy rifle variant as he approached the tower. He heard footsteps, and picked up the pace, convinced that the shadow in the corner of his eye was Sun. Surprise pulsed through his heart as Ren fell into step beside him, his dark aura flickering like a dying flashlight.

_He wasn't alone_.

The two teens locked eyes, and silent understanding passed between them. This was what being a Huntsman meant: standing against the darkness, fighting to save those who couldn't save themselves. It wasn't an easy road, but then, no road worth walking was. And, at the end of the day, all they had was each other.

If either one stopped moving, if they gave up_, _they weren't worthy of the name. That grim determination fueled them, lending strength to their aching limbs.

"Come on! We're almost there!" huffed Neptune, his gaze returning to the tower.

The shadows shifted, a voice rang out from inside the tower -

\- and the whole world seemed to shake as a massive explosion rocked Beacon Academy.

* * *

Ruby Rose was _angry_.

She'd never been truly _angry_ before; surrounded by friends and content in her naiveté, she grew up believing in a world of fairy tales and kind words, a world where everyone was good inside and everyone worked together to stand up to the Grimm threat. Even the death of her mother hadn't changed that. if anything, it had reinforced her beliefs; no person could possibly be _bad_, not as long as Grimm prowled through the forests. Sure, people might not get_ along_, and there were probably _some_ bad apples in the bunch, but... nobody could be truly _evil_. She'd been so secure in her beliefs, so content.

Until recent events had called that security into question.

Penny's death, the Grimm invasion, Torchwick's mad speech about survival of the fittest... they'd awoken her to a terrible truth, that the world was a terrible place, where good people_ died_ at the hands of terrible people who just didn't_ care_ about the Grimm, about humans or faunus, or about _anything_ except money and power, where worse enemies lurked _within_ the walls of civilization than outside of it, and...

...she grit her teeth, dark spots flickering at the corners of her vision.

As she fell from the airship she'd sabotaged, she'd seen Pyrrha and Cinder fighting on top of Beacon's tower, and a hungry fire had ignited in her chest. After all, the Invincible Girl had never been beaten in a fight; she had the highest combat scores in their generation, and a streak of tournament wins beyond compare. If anyone stood a chance against Cinder, it would be her.

_Prove him wrong - prove them all wrong._

But once their weapons were drawn, and the fighting began, Ruby was forced to reassess her position.

Pyrrha had been driven to the ropes. She'd been tossed around like a rag-doll; her sword had been snapped in two. Everything she had – her Semblance, her weapons, her combat skill – Cinder had an answer for, and the sheer _power_ the madwoman possessed tilted the fight entirely in her favor.

Worse still, it seemed like she was toying with Pyrrha, throwing her weight around and causing as much destruction as possible, eyeing her opponent all the while like a Beowulf eyed its dinner. Ruby knew, knew without a doubt, that Cinder was going to seize victory. Given that her idea of victory involved mass casualties, it didn't take much effort to see where the cards were going to fall.

Cinder was planning to kill the Invincible Girl.

Rage burned in her heart, setting her nerves alight - and in the light of that fire, she had an idea.

Instead of slowing her descent with Crescent Rose, Ruby did something really, really stupid: snarling, she positioned her sniper-scythe at her hip and pulled the trigger.

_Crack!_

The rapport of her rifle echoed into the distance like a thunderclap, and the recoil sent her flying through the air... but, instead of slowing her descent, it hastened it.

_Crack! Crack!_

With the barrel of Crescent Rose pointing up and away, each trigger-pull put her body further into gravity's grasp. Aura softened the recoil and insulated her form the sudden shift in G-Forces. She couldn't turn her head to the side - wind resistance would throw her into an uncontrollable spin - but she was able to gauge the rough positioning of her scythe without looking at it, as though it were an extension of her body. She knew its dimensions by heart, knew the right posture needed to achieve the affect she desired.

After hitting something near terminal velocity, she held her scythe out behind her, her amplified grip serving as an anchor point for the weapon's haft. With a flick of her wrist, the blade twisted sideways and bit into the wind like a boat's rudder, its edge extended ever-so-slightly by her ever-present Aura. The flat of Crescent Rose caught the breeze.

Slowly but surely, her _fall_ was turned into a _glide_.

Ruby soared through the air, her crimson cape twisting wildly in her wake. She was forced to keep her eyes shut, with all of the wind in her face – but the _heat_ of Cinder's wild attacks scorched at her cheeks, and she would have been blind to miss the bright fire blasts that marked her landing zone, so bright that they shone like beacons through her closed eyelids.

The blasts stopped, and through squinted eyes, Ruby saw one of Cinder's arrows sink deep into Pyrrha's ankle. The Invincible Girl collapsed to her knees, her face white with pain, her vibrant emerald eyes sunken with fatigue. Cinder leisurely strolled towards the downed hero, her lips twisted into a wicked grin, an obsidian bow materializing in her hands, an arrow knocked within it -

\- and Ruby knew she needed to be faster.

_'No you don't!'_

Gritting her teeth, and knowing that it was going to _hurt_... she triggered her Semblance.

The space around her compressed and folded, removing her wind resistance entirely. Ruby dropped, zipping through the open air like a bullet, faster and faster, streaking towards the tower in a tornado of red rose petals.

"_Pyrrha! Jump!_" she shouted, her silver eyes locked on her wounded classmate.

The red-head looked up in surprise, as did Cinder.

Realizing what was about to happen, Cinder drew back her arrow, its razor-sharp tip angled towards Pyrrha's chest –

\- Pyrrha used the last of her strength to jump, reaching for Ruby, her emerald eyes flashing with desperation -

\- and an explosion ripped through the tower, knocking Cinder off her feet.

The arrow went wild, soaring into the blackness of the night, and Ruby _collided_ with Pyrrha, tackling her with the force of a small freight train. The impact knocked Ruby senseless, and something in the Invincible Girl's leg popped sickeningly, but the little reaper's battle-honed reflexes held true; she clamped down on the wounded warrior, even as her own shoulder was ripped from its socket.

Heat – burning, scalding heat – licked at her heels, and something struck her in the head, but that didn't stop her. Crying out in pain, she _heaved _\- and the Invincible Girl was dragged with her has she cleared the lip of the tower. Unconscious, and injured, but very much _alive_.

Ruby Rose smiled, content, even as darkness crept into the edges of her vision. She'd done it. She'd saved Pyrrha.

She closed her eyes and fell.

* * *

The ravenette stirred.

She wasn't sure where she was; her hands pawed at sand, black sand, sand that ran through her fingers and onto the scorched earth. Fingers ran through her hair, a soothing gesture that roused her from her slumber. Something shifted beneath her, something with bright yellow hair, something that softly mouthed her name.

Her ears – all four of them – rang like church bells. She brought up her hand to them, and it came away wet, wet with something red.

She tensed as pain lanced through her abdomen. And in that instant, everything came rushing back: the burning in her muscles, the aching in her lungs, the heat of the Paladin's self-destruction on her face – and the memories of what she'd seen, what she'd done.

She doubled over, biting back a curse. The agony of it drove her senseless for a while. Her focus was entirely on her breathing, and on her beating heart, trying to get it under control.

"-that's it... shh, it's okay..." the voice murmured, cracking softly. It was distant, faint – but familiar.

A hand wrapped comfortingly around her waist. One hand, alone, because its companion was missing.

"Yang," Blake whispered. She swallowed thickly, licking her dried lips. She tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. Tears, unbidden and unwanted dripped from her cheeks. A heat brewed in her belly. _Shame_.

"Relax. You did good," her teammate murmured, those violet eyes of hers giving her a knowing look. "You're okay. You did all you could... and you saved me. I'm here."

Blake swallowed the lump in her throat, and found herself unable to meet her teammate's eyes. Instead, she quickly glanced away, her gaze settling on the fountain at the center of the courtyard.

Or, rather, what was left of it.

The courtyard was in ruins. The lush grass had been scorched, leaving behind empty fields of ash. The fountain had been torn asunder, like someone had fed the pristine marble into a grinder and spread the pieces out over the yard. The tower itself was _gone _from the third floor up, its skeletal remains scattered about the courtyard like tombstones. Small fires licked along the grounds, glutting themselves on leftover dust, scraps of furniture, and... bodies.

Blake didn't look too closely at those. Her amber eyes, unfocused, settled on something else: the smoking crater where her teammate, where Ruby's _partner_, used to be. Grief swelled in her heart. It was too much, too fast. She spoke, before she even realized what she was saying, and the words tumbled out of her mouth with a mind of their own.

"Weiss, she... I'm sorry, this was all my-"

The hand tightened around her midsection, cutting her short.

"Don't," Yang said. She sounded incredibly tired. "You've taken enough blame on your shoulders, kitty-cat. Please, just... _stop_."

The ravenette bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood.

"Sometimes, bad things happen. It's nobody's fault," Yang sighed, glancing at the bloody bandages were her right arm used to be.

"But I-"

"Stop blaming yourself," Yang grumbled, running her fingers through her hair. "I mean it. Keep talking, and I'm going to beat the hell out of you with my stump. With people watching. Trust me, you'll never live it down."

Her tone was terse and disgruntled, but the look in her eyes conveyed an unmistakable affection. A bittersweet smile made it Blake's lips.

"Now... help me up," The smile left as quickly as it came.

"Yang-"

"Help me up," she demanded, her eyes flashing red. "I saw what happened – I was... half-awake for the end of it. We're... we're going to find her body. We're not leaving her in there to _burn_." Her voice rose and fell, ending in a whisper, and a promise.

Blake could only nod.

* * *

The latter half of team RWBY stumbled through the wreckage of their former home.

Yang, despite her missing arm, proved to be in better shape than Blake. The wound the cat faunus had taken was incredibly painful, and once the adrenaline had worn off, she wasn't able to stand. Yang had the perfect remedy: the blonde bruiser looped her arm under Blake's shoulders, hefted her to her feet, and began half-carrying her towards the tower.

Blake didn't protest. She didn't have the energy, or the will. Every brush of the woman's hand, every breath that tickled her ears, let her know that the woman beside her was still _standing_, was still _alive_... and that was enough.

And so the two friends hobbled through the wasteland that was Beacon's courtyard, skirting around the shattered masonry.

As they walked, the bodies rose to their feet, and fell into step beside them. Nora, dragging her hammer in one hand, blood leaking from a steel spike that had pierced her shoulder. Sun, his shirt torn and bloodied, his fangs bared, one of his pant legs stained with blood from an unseen injury.

The four of them stumbled across the battlefield, completely silent.

And, as they walked, they stumbled upon two more bodies.

These ones didn't move.

"Rennie," breathed Nora, the first word she'd spoken since the fighting began. Dropping her hammer where it lay, she scrambled over to her teammate, tripping over loose stones in her haste, and collapsed onto all fours beside him. She brought a hand to his cheek, cupping it tenderly – and at her touch, he stirred.

"Hey," her teammate murmured, a pained smile on his lips. His aura, weakened as it was, had protected him from the blast; his clothing was a little singed, and light burns marred his chest and shoulders, but he was alive, he was _awake_, and he was_ talking_. Tears sprang to Nora's cheeks, gleaming in the flickering firelight, but not as bright as her smile.

Sun stopped, mid-step, his eyes on the second body.

Slowly, very slowly, he resumed walking... but something was different about him. His footsteps lacked the energy they'd once held, the fear that had propelled him across the wasteland in search of his teammate. They tapped out the beat of a funeral dirge on the shattered concrete walkway. Grief ate at his heart. All he'd wanted to do was find his friend.

He'd succeeded.

Sun collapsed to his knees, staring listlessly at Neptune's chest, waiting to see it rise and fall.

It never did.

Yang and Blake continued forward, walking past the monkey-faunus. Blake kept her gaze steadfastly ahead, pretending not to notice the way Sun's shoulder's seized, the way his breath hitched, the way he set his hand on his teammate's heart, only to pull it away sharply, his horrified gaze locked on his bloodstained fingers - because if she did, if she _saw_, she'd have to stop and turn around...

...and she had her own teammate to grieve.

The two teammates staggered forward. As they approached the tower, it became harder and harder to move; the open ground became choked with debris, and heavy smoke filled the air, burning their lungs and singeing their eyes.

At some point, Blake's legs gave out completely; so Yang picked her up, in a one-armed fireman's carry, and together, they foraged on, climbing hills of stones and steel beams that used to make up their home.

And they saw something they didn't expect to: a splash of red amidst the dreary backdrop of twisted metal and smashed concrete.

"_Ruby!_" Yang shouted, her heart leaping into her throat. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, her eyes shifted colors, and it took everything she had not to unleash her semblance. She rushed forward, Blake resting across her shoulders, kicking up stones in her wake, stumbling and slipping but _never_ falling, _never_ slowing, until she made it to her sister's body.

For a half-second, Yang feared the worst. Her baby sister was lying on the ground, her tattered cloak strewn across her, rose petals blanketing her limp body. The little reaper's clothing was mix of black and red, so she couldn't tell how much of the red coating her was _fabric_ and how much of it was _blood_. Her arm was twisted at a horrendous angle, stretching out behind her limply like a rag doll's.

The blonde bombshell set Blake down, and then knelt next to her fallen sister, putting an ear to her chest. Yang had never been a religious person, but she found herself praying for a sign, praying for her sister to be okay.

"I did it," a voice mumbled, tickling her golden locks.

Her prayers were answered.

Silver eyes opened slowly, unfocused, as though they were caught in a waking dream. Chapped lips parted, and gave a tired smile.

"I _did _it, guys," she said, her words slurring together drunkenly. "I... I saved Pyrrha. It was pretty awesome. I went really, _really_ fast."

Blake glanced up, and realized that Pyrrha was laying beside Ruby, sprawled listlessly across the ground. Her emerald eyes, ringed with fatigue, were shut. Bloody welts and scrapes covered her from head to toe, burns licked up and down her arms, her knee had been shattered and her ankle was a bloody _mess_ – but she was _alive_, her chest rising and falling quietly_. _And now that the fight had ended, she would stay that way.

Yang cupped her sister's head tenderly, before raising it onto her lap.

"Rubes, you're amazing," she whispered. Her eyes were red, not with rage, but with unshed tears.

"Mmm. Stop it," the younger girl mumbled, her silver orbs slipping shut. "You're embarrassing me."

Yang laughed. It was desperate, relieved, happy and terrified, all rolled into a single package that tore itself out of her lungs and left her throat raw.

"It's what I do," she giggled. "My job, remember?"

Suddenly, Ruby's eyes snapped open. She stared up at her sister, then at the hand in her hair – and at the bloody stump that Yang was trying to hide from view.

"Yang, your - your arm..." whispered Ruby, comprehension dawning. Yang avoided her prying gaze, her lips pressed together in a hard line.

Her sister's arm was missing. It was _gone_. And... something else was missing too. Something important. Some_one_ important. Her muddled thoughts swam, the room spun, and she felt like throwing up. Closing her eyes, she searched for the word that she wanted to use, the missing thing, the person that was white and wore lady-stilts and stabbed things with a _really cool_ sword that glowed funny colors when she did her dance-move-thing.

The name left her lips before she could remember it.

"Where's... where's Weiss?" Ruby asked, clutching at her temples.

No one answered her.

Death was nothing new to Blake Belladonna; she'd lived it for a time, a time she had spent the last year trying to forget. It should have been easy to say the words, but in this instance, in front of these people, she couldn't bring herself to say them.

Thankfully, she didn't have to. As Blake glanced over the bodies of her teammates, towards the smashed remains of the tower, her eyes caught a flicker of movement, and her heart skipped a beat.

"..._there_," she breathed. Her amber eyes widened in shock, and she scrambled to her feet, ignoring the crippling pain in her abdomen. Hand over her heart, she peered anxiously through the flickering flames and the clouds of smoke, even as the effort made her swoon. "She's _there_."

Sure enough, _something_ was stirring within the tower's remains. Not something, but _someone_ – someone who was wading through the flames and twisted steel, taking slow, measured steps. The figure's outline was blurred by the smoke and heat, but she caught sight of something peculiar – something that sent a thrill of hope into her heart.

That someone had _hair as white as snow_.

Yang jerked her head up, her gaze fixed intently on the hole in the tower walls... and she inhaled sharply. Ruby followed her gaze, her head lolling lazily to the side – and she stared, vacantly, at the smoking crater where the tower used to be.

"_Shit_," Yang breathed.

Weiss emerged from the veil of smoke, hovering listlessly above the ground. Her dress was scorched and caked with soot; it hung in tatters around her, barely concealing her modesty. Myrtenaster was absent from her hand, which hung limply by her side. Blood ran down her face and shoulder, and glistened beneath the hem of her tattered battle-dress.

Her eyes were closed.

"_Weiss_!" cried Blake, her heart hammering in her chest. She took a hobbling step forward, then back again, as a _second figure _emerged from the flames, a man that towered over the heiress in his arms.

The first thing she noticed was his hair. It was white - _Schnee _white - and cropped short, its edges flecked with blood. A blood-red burial shroud was wrapped around his arms and torso, overlaying form-fitting armor that highlighted a battle-hardened physique...

...or at least it _would_ have, if it weren't hanging loosely from his frame, filled with dozens of tears and gouges. It looked like the man had stepped into a blender, but he didn't appear worse for wear. His eyes, hard and sharp as diamonds, eyed them with faint disdain.

"...I'm guessing," he drawled, "that _this_ belongs to _you_."

* * *

**Author's Note - Fell the Tempest**

Hey everyone. To answer your questions:

**1)** Yes, this is a sort-of-reboot. I'm taking the old story, polishing it, adjusting a few core / side details to make the story flow better, and possibly (?) adding more content. Whether or not I take this story beyond where it last concluded depends entirely on audience response and my work schedule.

**2)** I originally removed this story from FFN because I was dissatisfied with it, and decided to re-upload a more polished copy after a supporter reached out to me and made a solid case for leaving it on the site. To that end, rather than just do a re-upload, I thought I'd make a few improvements, re-release it, and maybe continue from where we left off.

**3)** I don't have a set update schedule yet, because the military is very time consuming, I work weird hours, and I can't profit from this story in spite of all the work it takes. There will likely be a fast pace for chapter releases initially, and then things will slow down, but I'll keep working on the story and post every so often.

**4)** This story stars a post-Unlimited Blade Works version of Emiya Shirou, in which he signed up to be a Counter Guardian after coming to better understand the risks, and in which he was supported by Rin until his final days as a mortal. However, a lot of time has passed - lifetimes, in fact - causing his memories of living, and of Rin, to fade; his duties as a Counter Guardian are the same, but unlike Archer he still has faint impressions of the person he used to be, centered around veiled memories of a woman whose name that he doesn't remember. I'm not going to say anything more than that, because there are more details and I don't want to spoil the rest of the story for those that didn't read the original version.

Hoping to keep author's notes to a minimum, but I'll try getting back to those of you with questions in private messages. Thank you for all for your support.


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